


Training

by paxnirvana



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-14
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 10:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paxnirvana/pseuds/paxnirvana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keeping sharp is a constant process.</p><p>( bloodkink ) Originally written: May. 19th, 2005</p>
            </blockquote>





	Training

There was a pulse of chakra and then a gloved hand closed hard around his right wrist from behind. He turned into the hold, twisting against the middle fingers of the grip, loosening the effectiveness of the hold for a precious instant. His elbow slammed backwards into ribs even as he groped with the other hand for the shuriken he kept hidden under the bottom seam of his vest. There wasn't even a grunt from behind him for the blow, only a quick flip of a dauntingly strong wrist that turned his own right arm against him. He slammed cheek-first into the chalkboard with a soft grunt as a sandaled foot kicked his legs wider and a hard thigh pressed between his from behind, knocking him slightly off balance.

"Better, Iruka-sensei," a low, amused voice said in his ear even as the throwing star fell into position between his fingers. Twisting his upper body just enough, he whipped that hand up and back over his shoulder, driving a point of the shuriken deep into the flesh of his attacker's throat just beneath the edge of the jaw.

A killing blow.

There was another pulse of chakra, a quiver, then the kage bunshin disappeared with a soft pop of imploding air and a swirl of dust. But before it had fully dissolved, he was already spinning around, ignoring the sharp pain in the heel of his hand as he sent the small star winging across the classroom toward the pale-haired apparition crouched negligently beside the top row of seats.

The shuriken lodged with a solid thunk and a splatter of blood into the wooden floor, missing the streaking figure that had been there by only a hair's breadth. Before the star had even left his hand, he was already reaching into his hip pouch for a kunai with the other. Fingertips brushed a handle.

The hands that closed on him before he could get the kunai free were hard and implacable and unmistakably real. His back hit the wall, hard, his head bouncing off it sharply enough to make his vision waver. A body loomed in front of him as his arms were wrenched up over his head; steel-like fingers banded his wrists pinning them to the wall behind him without mercy. An angry, single-eyed gaze bore into his narrowed one intently, all it's usual languid distance discarded.

"You hurt yourself," Hatake Kakashi said with flat menace from behind his mask, none of the cold disapproval of his tone blunted by the cloth at all. "That isn't the point of this training, Iruka-sensei."

He lifted his chin slightly, pleased to find his pulse only slightly elevated and that he wasn't breathing hard. "It worked, didn't it?" he said, meeting that fierce gaze steadily even as he felt the slow slip of blood across his hand and the faintly distracting trickle of it down his wrist. The wound throbbed in time with his pulse above the other's iron grasp.

Kakashi's gaze searched his. "It did," he conceded with seeming reluctance after a long moment. Then Iruka barely kept his balance as he was abruptly yanked forward against the other man's chest. Wrists still held in a tight grip, his wounded hand was yanked down to just below eye-level between them. From the deep gash in the ball of his thumb made by the opposite point of the shuriken bright blood pulsed, pooling in his palm, dripping from between his fingers in a steady way. Kakashi seemed oblivious to the dark stains growing on the front of his vest below, his attention focused on the wound itself. "You weren't properly prepared for that maneuver," Kakashi snapped, his frown clearly visible even beneath the mask. "You injured yourself unnecessarily, possibly compromising your future effectiveness. A risky move, sensei." A gloved hand tugged at the edge of the mask, pulling it down only enough to bare the tight lips beneath. Iruka's gaze shifted down, locking on them. Watching as they parted, and the tip of a pink tongue showed between for an instant. "You need to wear gloves for a move like that," Kakashi continued, his voice dropping to a rough hush, "or properly brace your skin with chakra."

Iruka's breath, which had been steady until then, caught in his throat for a moment before finally shuddering free as he watched those pale lips shape the scold. He stared at the faint shine on that normally hidden flesh, entranced, his pulse a growing thunder in his ears.

"It worked," Iruka repeated, his own voice dropping to a low murmur as well, his limbs growing heavy and oddly unresponsive. He stayed still as his bloody hand was lifted. Breath ghosted across the stinging rent in his flesh, wafting the copper-bright scent of his own blood toward him.

"Yes," Kakashi said, his dark, smoldering gaze rising to catch his again, the dark emotion in it sending a rippling flash of heat through his nerves in response. He caught the motion from the edge of his vision as Kakashi licked his lips again, of the pale jaw moving, the dark line of the partially lowered mask hugging his chin shifting. "But now your grip is weakened and your weapon made slippery by blood..." Then the pink tongue was darting out and lapping at the blood pooled in his palm. Hot and clever and firm. He watched as the pale lips darkened, as the reddened tongue vanished between them. Heard Kakashi swallow, and then the soft flesh was back, stroking further up his palm, to the wound itself. He shuddered, anticipating pain. But instead a curling tingle of chakra and heat sank into his flesh with each lick, each searching stroke, steadily erasing the pain.

Iruka gasped hard, chest jerking as he began to pant after the air that had suddenly abandoned his lungs. His hand tensed, fingers flexing around faintly stubble-rough skin and soft fabric. The grip on his wrist tightened to keep him from pulling away as the slick, determined flesh of Kakashi's tongue slid warm between his fingers. Licking his blood clean. A deeper shudder ran through him as he listened to the wet lapping sounds. He reached out with his other hand and fisted it in the tough fabric of the other man's vest, gripping tightly.

"Kakashi-san..." he breathed, head tipping back, eyes rolling closed. "Kakassshi..." An arm closed around his back, drawing his body forward again with a jerk. Pressing him hard against the other's chest. Below, feet tangled, sandals caught. He staggered forward more, slightly off balance, and a knee slid between the Kakashi's thighs. He let it ride up. Along lean muscle into stiffening flesh. Rocked into the motion. So hot and hard. He felt the answering pulse, the rolling surge of hip against hip strike like a match against his need. Opened his mouth wide then and moaned aloud, the sound dark and rich and full of longing even to his own ears.

Kakashi was still licking his palm in long, slow strokes. Sending heat through him in waves that were just as damp and tingling with chakra. The pain was gone. The wound forgotten. Erased. All he could feel now was that tongue and the heart pounding under his clenched fist; the slow matching roll of thigh against thigh, the hitching catch in his own lungs.

Lips moved against his palm in the shape of his name. And a question. All he could do was nod and whimper, his body aflame with need. He felt a hand fumble and jerk at clothing between them for a moment. Then the flush of sweat on his belly was cooled slightly by a rush of air, making him shiver. His fist released it's grasp, weakened by the tremors that were growing in strength. Dropped it down to clutch at the side of Kakashi's vest even as his head tipped forward, falling against a shifting shoulder. He gasped. Quivered as scarred fingertips skimmed along bared flesh, then dipped beneath the rippled band of his boxers. He hissed as a leather-covered palm found his stiffening length and shifted it, lifting it up until it lay enveloped in that hand's strength between them. Hot and strong and sure, that grasp. He moaned again, shivering in anticipation.

"Touch me too," he heard. "Iruka-sensei..." And felt the words in vibration against his palm that was still cupping Kakashi's face. He let go the other man's vest, muscles curiously heavy and slow to respond, and groped for the top of his pants. The snap was already undone, the zipper half lowered. He reached within, hand shaking slightly, and the tips of his fingers found the sleek, rounded head already risen to meet him, slick with pre-come. He let them slid slowly over it, encircling it in his grasp. Feeling the surge as his grip tightened. The sharp pulse forward. The soft, lingering groan into his palm.

And then he was moving his hand, slow and steady, but with growing urgency over Kakashi's rigid flesh, Kakashi mirroring him. Their forearms brushed, wrists tangled. Throwing them out of rhythm until he paused, the instant enough to draw a groan of protest from the other man. Then he pulled up as Kakashi stroked down, their hips surging in tandem at last, bodies shaking, cocks throbbing. He rolled his forehead on Kakashi's shoulder, hitai-ate clinking dully against rivet and seam. Gasping for breath, rubbing harder into him as the pace grew. Until flesh was surging. Sweat growing. Need spiraling. He heard and felt the ragged rasp of Kakashi's breath trapped against his hand, felt the swirl of tongue around the base of his fingers, over his palm. The sensation overwhelmed him and he froze, hips jerking as he came, hot semen spilling over Kakashi's grip onto Iruka's hand, slickening his grasp on Kakashi's cock. His mind whiting out in a rush of searing heat and breathless relief and then, with a short cry, Kakashi was coming too. Splashing a pulsing stream of heat against Iruka's bared lower belly and wrist and still-quivering cock, smearing it between them with each slowing thrust of hip, mingling semen and sweat and the remnants of blood.

He leaned against Kakashi and shook, his hand still thrust inside opened pants, fingers holding the other man's softening cock gently as his other palm was kissed over and over and over again, his fingers there curling around Kakashi's face in a feeble answering caress.

He turned his head at last, looking up through heavy lids to catch the velvet heat of the single half-lidded eye looking down at him.

"Let me take you home," Kakashi whispered against his palm, turning his head slightly so there could be no mistaking his words or the pleased smile that turned up his mouth. Then he kissed his palm again with a tenderness that made Iruka's breath and pulse and very life seem to stop for a single heady instant.

He lifted his head abruptly, rooting past his own hand to take those damp, faintly swollen lips with his own. Tasted blood and sweat and longing. Then he pulled back enough to let his mouth curve slowly up in an answering smile.

"No, I'll take you home."

\--end--


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